I live in a tent and that tent got torn. Again!

Tears and tears from the "hashtag tentlife"

Kia ora, hello! I’m Dunc and I live in a tent. Unlike many, my living circumstances are largely out of choice. At least, I think they are. I guess I’ll find out for certain next time I try to go and live in a building.

How I arrived at this scenario is a long story. We can save that for another day. Here’s the TLDR version: I answered a job advert looking for seasonal workers on an avocado orchard. Yes, avocados, the fruit native to the Americas, whose name apparently originates from the word for “testicle”. The job included accommodation at the local holiday park (campsite), plus wages for work. Partway through my second epic adventure and injured, I needed somewhere to hole up for winter, until I could restart in spring. Adventure funds were also depleting, so the cash would come in handy.

I’ve long been fascinated by the people who live on the campgrounds. Throughout my 2015 cycle adventure, The Big Loop, I met and interacted with many of these souls. Some were in caravans, “semi-permanent”, with small gardens, decks and little picket fences around them. These were often retirees. Others were more transient, parked up in their campers or vans for several weeks at a time. Some stayed in cabins; a roof, bed and fridge all they need. Typically, the weekly cost represents a fraction of the cost of renting a building, with bills. Plus, you get to live in a little slice of paradise. Sounds idyllic, right?

As an adventurer, the #tentlife is the life I lead. Despite the option to share a cabin on this job, I have faith in my own gear for comfort and warmth. I’m also at an age where shared quarters will be my last choice. Between once having my leg grabbed by a dreaming backpacker as I climbed off my bunk, to regularly having my all-important sleep disturbed by others’ fog horn snores and sloppy farts, the decision is an easy one. Earplugs are simply not that good (and sleeping with a nose peg on probably ain’t recommended for health reasons, right?).

My choice to sleep beneath the flimsy, damp, but oh-so private, canvas has been tested on several occasions. The most recent of these was today. Work was cancelled due to the rain, so I hit ‘off’ on my alarm, before waking again around 6:30am. I could hear the gentle pitter-patter of light rain on the tent, but the worst was yet to come. Most concerningly, strong, severe gales were forecast for the region. As I careened down the hill to the bathroom for my morning nature break, I made the executive decision - in my freshly-woken wisdom - to move the tent.

I have the best site on the camp. It’s at the very top of the hill, with a slender view of part of the Houhora Harbour. It has lush grass. It’s not on anybody’s route anywhere, so nobody “needs” to drive past in the night. Plus - and this was the deal-sealer - it’s practically in the garden of the neighbours to the camp. “Gidday!” I once called out while waving to them, the morning after a reasonable winter storm. “Shit, you’ve got some balls!” came the reply. I like “my” neighbours.

It is, however, a somewhat exposed site. So, this morning, the contents of my little house were hurriedly removed and dumped into my car, out of the drizzle. I then went round and unpegged the tent. It’s moveable as a single piece, so this was the last step. All I had to do then was carry it to the safety spot, down the hill, behind some trees. I had one peg remaining and was headed to it, when a tiny gust lifted the tent off the ground. It just went up, like a hovercraft. Until the last peg changed all that, sending it toppling sideways and over onto its side. “CRACK!” - I heard the familiar sound of bad news. I then saw the sight of worse news: the split pole had torn a big hole through the tent’s outer. Perfect! What a way to start a Monday; what a way to start a week!

I was absolutely disgusted with myself for having the gall to try and avert a disaster, only to cause a disaster, when the original disaster may not even have happened. I carried my injured buddy down to the sheltered spot and inspected the damage. It was quickly deemed a problem for “Future Dunc”. The rain was intensifying, so I pulled my hiking tent from the car, set it up and stashed what gear I could inside.

For all the cost-saving, enjoyment and great sleeps I’ve gained from my insistence on living the #tentlife, curveballs like these do make me question my choice. The wooden cabin only blows over in nursery rhymes, right?

Maybe it’s an unwillingness to compromise, and keep the tent down on the lower site, that’s to blame. Perhaps the exposed upper is not the best site on the camp after all. You could also argue - fairly - that I should have moved the tent yesterday, when the sun was shining and there was little wind. Regardless, I am learning a lot from these escapades. Every little trial, trouble and trick from the #tentlife gets stored in my mind portfolio. I am gradually turning pro.

Plus, with the piles of money I end up accruing from this leftfield lifestyle decision, maybe one day I’ll be able to afford a whole house. ‘Cos - you know - the reduced outgoings still outweigh two tears to the outer.